Zephyr
by Renata Swift
Summary: Carlotta Savoy's death is a mystery that her grieving friend intends to solve. But with the Corp fighting back and Public Enemy Number One assisting her in the process, the race to uncover the truth gets increasingly harrowing for all parties involved.
1. In Which I Break My Heart Again

**_A/N: OH WOW I'M THE FIRST STORY IN THIS CATEGORY O.o_**

**_Hello everyone! I'm back again after a rather long hiatus, and this is my latest project (which I fully intend to complete). It's my first time writing a Bots Master fanfic, but I have only good memories of this cartoon and good things to say about it. Unfortunately, since it's so old, there are very few fans out there, and very few fanfics. I wanted to revive the awesomeness that is this cartoon through my story. Although I know no one is going to read this, I'm going to write it anyway because I love this cartoon so darn much._**

**_The rating is for some strong language scattered through the story. The characters from The Bots Master do no belong to me; however, all OCs do, so don't go around stealing them, okay? Thanks._**

**_Special thanks to my beta reader, Delinda Beckett. Thanks for all your support and advice!_**

* * *

**Zephyr**

* * *

_**Chapter One**_

_**In Which I Break My Heart Again**_

* * *

The rain was falling harder that I'd ever seen it do so in my ten years here in Mega City. It seemed like an ironic sign from the heavens, one I wasn't exactly happy to link to today. My insomnia had started up again two weeks ago, and yesterday night, I hadn't slept a wink. It was almost pathetic how I'd managed to drag myself to work. I couldn't keep hiding behind a veil of sorrow and misery. I didn't want anyone's pity.

What I wanted was the truth, and I sure as hell would get it, one way or another.

I pulled my beige overcoat over my head, trying to prevent the rain from further ruining my unkempt, stringy hair. As I walked towards the MNN building (a.k.a. my place of work), I watched my colleagues pull up in their cars or in taxis. I hastily waved at them as I walked into the lobby and let the 3A behind the front desk scan my ID. I'd set out far too early to catch a cab – five-freaking-thirty in the morning – but since my job required me to be present at all hours, regardless of whether I was at a wild party or hanging off a cliff, I swallowed my protests and complaints and got dressed. I've never been an early riser. I'll be the first to admit that I thoroughly enjoy my beauty sleep. However, since I hadn't been sleeping anyway when my phone rang, I guess I had nothing better to do.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. It was, after all, the day that I can confidently say changed my life. I really shouldn't waffle (another of my irritating habits, along with not really brushing my hair and laughing like a lawn-mower).

I was still thinking about what I'd be doing that afternoon when I walked into my office. There was nothing different about the place when I walked in – the same people that had been furiously typing away at their computers yesterday were doing the same that day, the same 3As that zoomed around the office, delivering documents and coffee were doing their rounds, and my colleagues all had the look I'd seen on their face for years now – weary and beleaguered, just waiting for the hour hand on the clock to tell them that it was time to get home for some well-deserved R&R. However, there was a strange feeling in the air. Maybe it just was me. I couldn't put my finger on it, so I just shrugged it off as an effect of just how miserable I was feeling.

I sat down at my desk and booted up my computer, waiting to see what assignment I'd been given for today. But before I could open my inbox, a memo popped up on my screen, informing me that my boss wanted to see me ASAP. That was odd. How could I have done anything wrong if I'd only just walked into the office? (See how my paranoid tendencies emerge? Fun fact: this can get really scary if I'm thoroughly freaked out. Not a good characteristic of a journalist, but since I can keep it under control, it really isn't a problem.) I quickly adjusted my messy hair and, as nonchalantly as possible, walked into Tomas Kipling's office.

Tomas has been a tall, wiry, rather nervous-looking man (his thinning hair only contributes to this image) for the three years that I've known him. However, beneath the façade, he is a tough-as-nails badass who will do almost anything to get a good story to the public, regardless of its repercussions. Today he was sitting behind his desk and typing furiously at his computer, hammering out words with an intensity I'd never seen before.

"Guess what I'm typing right now," he said, not even taking his eyes off the computer screen. I shut the door quietly behind me.

"My…obituary?"

"No cigar, Sharpie, no cigar." He looked up at me with a smirk. "This is a press release that will soon be sent to the presses and aired on the televiewer."

"Must be one hell of a press release. Sir," I quickly added.

"It is." Tomas bent and pulled a huge statuette out from under his desk, which he'd been crudely using as a hiding place. "That's yours."

"Get out."

"It's my office," he growled. "_You_ get the hell out." Then his voice softened. "You, Lisbeth Sharpe, are this year's winner of the Global Media Award for Best Investigative Report."

Now _this _was true irony. I receive an award on a day that I have been dreading for a year for an investigation into the life of the bastard because of whom I am now in mourning.

Clearly my face betrayed my true emotions to Tomas, as did the fact that I was not going gaga over the award. "What's the matter with you? This is the award that every decent journalist on the planet would kill to win!" He peered at me for some time before an expression of realization dawned on his face.

"Damn," he muttered. "It's Carlotta, isn't it? Damn."

"I'm sorry, sir. I'm really happy, I really am – it's just that today, this looks like a sick joke that someone up there is playing on me."

"Look, you shouldn't be here. Why did you even come to work?"

"It's been a year. I've moved on."

"No, you haven't."

"I have to." I must have said this very fiercely, because Tomas shrunk back slightly in his chair and sighed.

"I guess I have no other choice," he replied, after a long silence. "Go home, Lisbeth. For today, you are _persona non grata_ in this building. I will now proceed to call Security."

"You've got to be joking!" I yelped. "What about all my work, my pending assignments, my reports? Bobo the clown isn't going to do them for me!"

Tomas pointed one finger at his door. "Get out, Lisbeth. I don't want to see you here today or tomorrow."

I know Tomas meant well, but as I left the office, the televiewer mounted in one corner of the room, which was tuned into MNN, began to display a ticker tape with the following text: _MNN Journalist Lisbeth Sharpe Wins GMA for Zulander Investigation. _Noticing this, a few of my colleagues began to cheer loudly, and soon the whole office was clapping.

At that point in time, I wanted to kill two men – my boss, and that asshole, Ziv Zulander.

* * *

I suppose I should discuss Carlotta's fate, and how it's linked to the investigation I did shortly after she died. After all, I can now positively say that my investigation is the reason for the chain of events that were to follow my temporary (albeit unnecessary) expulsion from my office that day.

I'd known Carlotta Savoy for years. We'd grown up in the same town, swum at the same pool, had crushes on the same guys, and even been in the same class at school all our lives. So we took it for granted when both of us ended up at the same university, doing the same course, and – by some freaky chance – ended up sharing a dorm room together. When Lottie accepted a job at MNN's newspaper and me as an intern with their news studios, it was a wake-up call to a reality where Lottie and I were no longer joined at the hip. For although we worked at the same company, our offices were different, and we could only see each other on weekends when we were not working, which were few and far in between. Lottie steadily rose through the ranks at work, whereas my progress was a little slower.

She was good – really, _really_ good. Lottie could sniff out a good story from miles away, and towards the end of her days, we'd often meet just to exchange information on juicy stories that we could use in our pieces. It was through these discussions that Lottie introduced me to Lonnie Chang, another reporter who was fast making her way up the ladder of professional success, and who desperately wanted to transfer to my department. The three of us grew close. That's when Lottie told us the good news (well, she believed it was good news then). She was selected to report on a new Krang chip factory, and she would be flying to Dallas with a few other journalists to check it out. We'd toasted her success at the local bar. But, of course, Fate had her little tricks to play, and so intervened.

Lottie was the only journalist who didn't escape in the pod when the bomb that Ziv Zulander planted on her plane blew up. The coffin under her gravestone has no body because the rescue unit couldn't find one. Their theory was that the explosion blew her to smithereens. (Of course, they said it much more politely, but that was the bottom line.) That day, I promised both myself and Carlotta that I would find out exactly what happened and would do everything in my power to get Zulander behind bars. It was in this rage that I set up began my investigation into Zulander and conducted a series of interviews with high-ranking officials in the RM Corporation, including its President, Sir Louis Leon Paradim. During the course of this investigation, I came across evidence of just how violent and deranged Zulander was. _And to think that he'd once worked with us, _Lady Frenzy told me sadly.

Now, on Carlotta's first death anniversary, I still felt a surge of hatred for the man who'd murdered my best friend in cold blood. I'd been warned that he might come after me. I'd also been warned that he might try something at the memorial service that afternoon.

I didn't care. All I wanted was for Zulander to receive his just desserts.

* * *

I went straight home and changed into more somber-looking clothes, after which I killed time watching soppy dramas on the televiewer before setting off for the service. I hailed a cab and reached the cemetery just as people were settling down. I recognized many of them as former colleagues of Lottie's, but others I simply could not place. I saw Lonnie sitting in the last row of the seats under a large green tent that had been set out for everyone. She waved at me, and I decided to sit next to her for some emotional support. (I'm sure Lonnie was looking for the same.)

The service was not very long. Lottie had no family, so her colleagues spoke a few words about how brave and optimistic she was, yadda yadda, et cetera, et cetera. The whole ceremony had an impersonal, orchestrated feel to it that I didn't appreciate, so as soon as it was over I decided to leave my bouquet at her grave and go back home.

When I got up and turned around to set my flowers down, I noticed a man staggering towards Lottie's grave. As I approached him, the rank stench of cheap alcohol drifted my way. The man was middle-aged, with an unshaved beard and uncombed hair. His eyes were bloodshot and had dark circles beneath them. He hadn't even bothered to dress appropriately for the service. My first instinct should have been disgust, but somewhere at the back of my mind, something was telling me that I knew him. I approached the grave cautiously, lay my flowers down slowly, and looked at the man's face. He stared back, his mouth slack.

"Sir, is there a problem?" I asked, wanting to avoid a scene.

"Damn straight," he said gruffly, still swaying. "This is all my fault."

"I don't think you could have done anything about it, sir. Can I help you back to the tent?"

"You don't understand," he said forcefully, grabbing my arm. I tried to pull away from him, but his grip was far too strong. "It's not like you know what happened. She's not down there."

I assumed he was referring to the lack of a body. "The rescue unit couldn't find her, sir. Please let go of my hand."

"You don't get it!" he yelled, pushing me to the ground. "She's not even dead!"

Right there, the world stopped turning. I blinked helplessly. It was probably thanks to the drinks that he was acting out, but what kind of a statement was that? Everyone there was grieving. What made him so damn special?

Fresh tears sprung to my eyes. "Sir," I said stiffly, pulling myself back on to my feet, "you need to go home. _Now._"

"And you," he spat, "need to listen to me. Lottie said you were the best. Now prove it."

That was when it hit me like a bolt of lightning. "I remember you - you're Lottie's old editor! Martin…something!"

"And it's my fault she's running." Martin Something cradled his head in his hands and sank to the ground. "If I'd just said no to them, she'd be here. But she's not. She's not coming back."

"Carlotta is dead. She isn't running anywhere."

"And you haven't been listening to me!" he yelled. I turned back to the tent, where people were now staring at us. I turned back to him.

"How can you be sure?" I hissed. "Have you seen her?"

"She came to me after the plane blew up. She knew the truth. But I couldn't help it…I had to let them take her," he sobbed. "Please understand…my family…they had my son! I had to!"

I was stunned. If Martin was telling the truth, where was she now? Why hadn't she contacted me? "Where is Lottie now? Please tell me!"

"I can't! The HumaBots…they'll come for me! They killed my family, burnt my house down…don't let them take me! Help me, Lisbeth!"

By this point, Martin was uncontrollably shaking and crying. Someone had obviously called the police, because the next thing I knew, three police bots were at our side, escorting Martin away.

"Are you alright, Ma'am?" asked one of the bots. I snapped back and realized that he was talking to me.

"I'm fine," I said, shrugging him off. I ran after Martin. "Martin! What do you know? Tell me! I'll try to help!"

"The airport! Ask about the plane!" he yelled back. The police bots dragged him away and threw him into a car that had been parked by the curb. Strangely enough, it was not a police van, but a limousine. As the bots threw Martin in, I caught the faintest glimpse of glittering flaxen hair through a crack in one of the windows.

As I watched the car drive away, the stress of the day finally caught up with me. I broke down at Lottie's grave, sobbing uncontrollably, sure that I would never, ever recover from all the heartbreak I'd experienced till then.

* * *

**_A/N: So there you have it - the first chapter! I know it may not seem like much, but I assure whoever's reading this that the fun in only just beginning. Thanks for reading! Please go ahead and leave a review!_**


	2. In Which I Initiate A Fight

**_A/N: Hello again :) So I know no one's actually read this (I checked Story Stats), but I don't mind - I'm just happy to be writing again. Without further delay - Chapter Two!_**

**_Thanks once again to Delinda Beckett for proofreding the chapter and giving me concrit and motivation._**

* * *

**Zephyr**

* * *

_**Chapter Two**_

_**In Which I Initiate A Fight**_

* * *

That night, I slept with my eyes wide open. Martin's words rang in my head like an alarm that refused to be silenced. A part of me wanted to convince myself that he was delusional and drunk, and that was why he said the things that he did. But another part of me, the part that so desperately wanted her best friend back, told me to look into his claims. It wouldn't do me any harm, would it? At least then I would have an answer for all my questions, and a salve to heal my wounds.

What had he said? HumaBots. The airport. The plane. His words were getting jumbled like the letters in someone's alphabet soup. _If I don't write this down, _I thought, _I'm going to forget it._ I pulled out a pen and my notebook (that's right I'm one of the old-fashioned ones), turned on my bedside lamp, and began to scribble.

By 'they', did he mean just the HumaBots, or someone else as well? HumaBots were strictly experimental at this stage, with only a few living outside RM Corp city as part of their trials. There were directories on public record, and others that my press pass could take me to. I could find out which HumaBots had been in Mega City the month that Martin's family was killed. But it was highly unlikely that the HumaBots would tell me anything. They were usually people who wanted to be stronger, faster and 'better' than the rest, and they would do anything – _including murder?_ I wondered – once they got upgraded. Still, it could be worth a try to check things out.

"_The airport. Ask about the plane!"_ Now that might be easier to look into. Logs and flight plans would be easily accessible, and I could easily ask the airport staff if anything unusual had happened that day.

I'm not sure if I actually expected to find anything, but I'm sure that I was just trying to bury the past in my own way and move on with my life, because I needed to. I couldn't keep clinging on to Lottie's ghost.

* * *

The next morning, I rang Tomas' office and curtly informed him that I would be taking a few days off. Tomas almost seemed gleeful when I announced to him that the stress of the past few days had taken its toll on me. The last thing I wanted to do was to wallow in self-pity, but somehow he bought the bait and told me to take as much time off as I needed (read: up to a month).

Instead of doing any of what I'd told Tomas I'd be doing, I packed my recorder, notebook, pen and a cap into my duffel bag, which I had carelessly thrown onto the sofa the day before. So there's another thing about me that you now know – I'm queen of the procrastinators. My house looks like a demolition site, and I'm not bothered about it at all. I've got clutter littering my floor, but since all of it has been there for ages I know where to find what I need in the midst of it all.

I'd decided to go to the airport and make a few inquiries, as per Martin Something's suggestions. I had a contact at the airport from when I'd previously conducted my investigation, but at that time I hadn't thought of checking the flight logs and plans. Neither had I interviewed the ground staff – I'd talked to only the higher level employees. With these thoughts running through my mind, I hailed a cab and set off for the airport.

My contact was the Airport Manager, a kindly old man called Rob Kindle. He'd worked at the airport all his life thanks to his fascination with planes. He held a pilot's license, but he rarely flew his private plane because he spent all his time working. He'd once told me that his greatest regret in life was not living enough.

Story of my life.

I met Rob at the airport café, where we both chatted over coffee about an assortment of things (including my recent award, which I felt like throwing into the trash). He told me that he was surprised to see me after such a long time.

"I'm sorry I haven't kept in touch," I apologized.

"There's no need for that. I'm sure journalists don't enquire after every person they interview."

"Yes, but I'm really sorry about the fact that I called you out of the blue after such a long time, just for another favor."

Rob squinted at me. "Another one, eh? Like I said before, I'll agree to it only if I approve of what I hear."

"I need to check the flight log and plans of the Dallas plane once again, and I also need to look at the hard drives of the bots that handled the maintenance of the plane."

"Is this the second part of your investigation?"

"No," I muttered, wincing. "I just want to look into some claims that an acquaintance of mine recently made."

"Well," said Rob, stretching, "I'll see what I can do. Is it possible for me to send it all to your office, like before?"

"Actually, no," I said – a little too quickly. Rob's eyes narrowed. "I'm working from home now, so…here's where you need to send it all." I pulled a sheet of paper out of my notebook, scribbled my address on it, and handed it over. "I'll pay for it all – just please send it express."

Rob pursed his lips. "Is there something you're not telling me, Miss Sharpe?"

I frowned. "I'll let you know what I know - when I find out what it is exactly."

The elderly gentleman looked at me apologetically. "Look, Miss Sharpe, I'd hate to rain on your parade, but if this is unauthorized, and if the results damage this airport's reputation, a lot of people will lose their jobs. I want you to assure me that no matter what the results of your investigation are, no one here will pay a heavy price."

I looked at him, dumbfounded. "You know I can't promise such a thing, Mr. Kindle. Until I find what I'm looking for – the truth – I can't make such a deal. I will, however, let you know what I find out when I find it, and let you take the appropriate measures."

"I'm still not entirely convinced."

"Then will you at least give me a log of the 3As that were working on the plane before it took off? Surely that wouldn't endanger any jobs."

"_That_ I can do."

"Well, thanks a lot once again, Mr. Kindle. I'm afraid I've been a burden to you today."

Rob smiled. He really reminded me of my grandfather. "You know I'd help any way I can."

I went straight home after that and found some documents from my earlier investigation. I had a list of the airport staff that had been in charge of the hangar where the plane had been parked. I hadn't needed to ask them any questions regarding the plane earlier; now it looked like a pretty good idea to do so.

I continued to glance through the documents till six in the evening, which was when I received a call from Rob. He sounded frustrated.

"Miss Sharpe, is that you?"

"Yes, Mr. Kindle, good evening. Is there a problem?"

"Actually, there is. I went into Storage to retrieve the logs you asked for, and they're missing."

I sat up. "Isn't it possible that someone misplaced them? They are a year old, after all."

Rob stood firm. "No way, no how. We store 3A logs for up to five years before destroying the records. The entire log file for the hangar is missing, not just individual logs. And that is the only file that's missing."

"Well, do you have backups of the 3As' hard drives?"

"I was just getting to that," he said impatiently. "Since the logs were missing, I thought I'd print a fresh lot from the stored hard drives…"

"…only the hard drives are missing as well," I finished.

"That's right," he said grimly. "I'm sorry to say that someone has pulled a fast one on me right under my nose. I'm also sorry I wasn't more helpful."

The cogs in my head began to turn rapidly. "Would it be alright if I interviewed some of your staff tomorrow then? There's just three people I need to speak to."

"That's fine by me. In the meantime, I'll be conducting an investigation of my own. I'll see you tomorrow then."

* * *

The next day, I went back out to the airport to talk to the three staff members who'd been looking after the hangar that fateful day – Marisa Newton, Lindsey Thorne, and Keegan Dawson.

I found all three of them waiting for me in front of the hangar. "Kindle said you were looking for us," Lindsey said gruffly. She must have been in her early forties, and had shoulder-length chestnut hair. Marisa was taller but younger-looking, with raven-black hair. Keegan was a fifty-something man with a solid paunch and a bored expression.

"I'm sorry to interrupt your work, but I had a few questions regarding the Dallas flight. I understand you were in charge of the hangar where it had been parked?"

At the time, I didn't know what it was, but something happened. All three workers had the same expression on their face, and it was one I could easily identify. Each of them was scared stiff, and they were trying to hide it.

Keegan was the first to interrupt the awkward silence. "So? We already talked to the police. We've given our statements. You can check the records. That's public property."

"I've already done that. I just wanted to go over what happened that day. Who knows? You might just remember something that you forgot to mention in your statement."

I squinted carefully at each of them. They looked at me like all they wanted to do was tackle me and get the hell out of the hangar.

"Look, lady," Lindsey started. "I'm going to tell you the same thing we told the cops. We finished our duties, sent the cleaner and mechanic bots in, and supervised them from that cabin there." She pointed to a control box behind me. "Everything looked just fine, so we left for our break. Another guy was supposed to take our place, but before he got here, Zulander and his bots attacked our 3As and got into the cargo hold of the plane. No one noticed anything because the tapes weren't reviewed till after the plane took off." It was her turn to squint at me. "Anything else?"

Aw, what the hell? I was feeling cocky. "Yeah, I have a question. How much money did you accept to learn that crap, and who gave it to you?"

Keegan was the first to explode. His face turned beet-red, and he swung a fist in my direction. He scraped my cheek, but I managed to avoid any real injuries from his left hook.

Let me just state that I am a terrible fighter. I've had my share of fights, and those equal my losses. I have no clue what to do when someone suddenly decides to take a swipe at me. Needless to say, when Keegan kept coming at me, all I did was fall to the ground, shut my eyes and stick my hands out in defense. I'm good with my words. My limbs? Not so much.

Thankfully, Marisa jumped on to Keegan's back and started yelling at him. When he finally calmed down, the women looked apologetically at me and shrugged. Keegan was still fuming, but his reaction to what I'd said only meant that I was in the right.

"Look," I started, scraping dirt off my trousers, "someone I knew was on that flight. She didn't make it out. I want justice. Propagating a bunch of lies doesn't make anything right."

"The truth shall set you free, huh?" Lindsey muttered sarcastically.

"That's right. If you don't tell me exactly what happened that day, my friend would have died for nothing, and you will live with that guilt for the rest of your life." I pushed my stray hair behind my ears and glared at them. No one moved. No one said anything. I continued to stare them down, determined to stay there until someone began to talk.

Surprisingly, Keegan was the first to crack.

"Fine," he said. "I'll tell you, but not here. Follow me."

The four of us walked to a locker room for airport staff that was a few buildings away from the hangar. Keegan ushered us inside, made sure the room was empty, then locked the door.

"This is one of the few place in the airport where there are no cameras," he explained. "That makes it harder for them to persecute us."

"It's been a year. No one cares anymore," Marisa retorted.

"Actually, you'd be surprised to know that people still do," I piped in. "Now tell me what happened." I whipped out my recorder. "Don't leave out any detail, no matter how unimportant you think it is."

Keegan sat down on a bench between two rows of lockers and began. I pressed the record button.

"That day, the three of us had just finished our routine work and we'd gone into the control box. Just then, an official came into the box and said that they were loading some important cargo on the plane and that no one else was to know about it. They said it was for a security demonstration to be shown to the journalists when they got to the factory at Dallas. We were to carefully load the cargo onto the plane and then make sure the 3As did not get anywhere near the crates. We asked the official why the bots couldn't do the loading, but we were told that the bots might interfere with whatever was inside the crates.

"The whole time that we were loading the crates, the official kept a close eye on us, almost as though he wanted us the get away from whatever was inside the crates. As we were loading the crates, curiosity got the better of us, and we decided to open one of the crates after the man had left. Strangely enough, none of the crates were locked from the outside.

"When we tried to open the largest crate, we set off an alarm that we didn't know was wired inside the crate. The alarm was connected to whatever was inside the crate. We closed the crate quickly, but the official must have been notified that someone had opened the crate. Before he came back, however, we caught a glimpse of what was inside the crate." Keegan swallowed. "It was Ziv Zulander."

A pregnant silence fell over our little group.

"What?" I asked, shocked. "Ziv Zulander was smuggled onto the plane? By a Corp official? That's not possible."

"That's what we saw," Marisa confirmed. "But there was something odd about it. He was just lying there, his eyes closed. I couldn't tell if he was breathing or not. We couldn't understand any of it –why he was inside a crate, why he'd been loaded into the plane, why an official had brought him there – none of it made any sense."

Lindsey picked up from where Marisa had stopped. "That's not all. The official had brought GreenBots with him when the alarm went off. They forced us back into the control box and threatened all of us if we told anyone what we saw. Then the official escorted us out of the hangar and to a conference room in the main airport building. He said that one hundred thousand dollars had been transferred to each of our bank accounts as a gesture of goodwill, and that he assumed the same amount would ensure our silence. After we heard what had happened to the plane, we checked the security footage before anyone could confiscate it. I have a copy with me."

"Would you mind lending it to me?" I asked. Lindsey nodded. She went over to what I assumed was her locker and pulled out a technical manual. She opened the cover to reveal a laser disc that had been set into a hole in the pages. "I've made plenty of copies," she explained, "just in case something happens. You can keep this."

"Watch it," Marisa said grimly. "That is the biggest mystery of all."

I thanked the three profusely and ran home as quickly as I could to watch the video. I put the disc into my player and turned on my televiewer.

At first, I saw whatever they had told me – the three working, the official coming with the cargo, the trio loading the cargo, the official returning with the armed guards, the armed guards escorting the three into the control box while the official disappeared into the planes' cargo hold to check the crates, then the entire group walking out of the hangar. So that confirmed their story. After everyone had left, the maintenance 3As came into the hangar and began to work on the plane. But the events that followed shocked me to the core.

Soon after the bots began to work, two strange, colorful-looking bots came into the hangar and began to attack the 3As. More strange bots followed, and then an all-too familiar man walked into the hangar. A man that Keegan, Marisa and Lindsey swore was in a crate in the plane's cargo hold.

I watched Ziv Zulander and his bots disappear into the belly of the plane, my heart pounding and my head spinning.

* * *

**_A/N: So that ends Chapter Two. The gang will make its appearance next chapter, and I hope to get the plot moving rather quickly from Chapter Four. _**


	3. In Which I Black Out  Twice

**_A/N: Hello there! Well, it's been a week since the previous update, and I'm glad to announce that today marks the end of my school life! So I thought it'd be nice to update _Zephyr_ with a new chapter._**

**_I wanted to point something out before the chapter. Dr. Hiss and the BOYZZ all have distinct speech patterns - Hiss lisps, and the BOYZZ tend to turn the 's' sound to 'z'. However, I will not be writing in that style, as I have found that it is far too distracting. If any readers feel otherwise, don't hesitate to let me know!_**

**_A huge thanks to Kitt21, who is the only proof I have that someone other than my beta, Delinda Beckett, is reading this._**

* * *

**Zephyr**

* * *

_**Chapter Three**_

_**In Which I Black Out…Twice**_

* * *

I was nearly hyperventilating as I turned off the televiewer and replayed the events from the disc in my head. If Zulander had indeed been in a crate, how the hell had he managed to come waltzing in through the front door of the hangar? Suddenly Marisa's words flooded into my head: _We couldn't understand any of it –why he was inside a crate, why he'd been loaded into the plane, why an official had brought him there – none of it made any sense._

So that probably hadn't been Zulander inside the crate. The official had told the three workers that the crates carried something for a security demonstration. Marisa had also said that she couldn't tell whether 'Zulander' was breathing or not. Maybe they'd created a model of him to use as target practice. Maybe it was a bot that was designed to look like Zulander.

A number of questions began to form in my head. If that was indeed a bot or a model resembling Zulander inside the crate, then what was in the other crates? And had Zulander known what was in the crates when he'd got on to the plane? Was that why he'd hijacked the plane? If so, all he'd needed to do was remove the crates, but instead he'd stayed on the plane. Indeed, if he'd have wanted to blow it up, he need not have stayed onboard – a timed explosive would have sufficed.

I sighed. As much as I hated the guy, things did not make sense to me anymore.

I made myself a mug of coffee as I tried to get my thoughts in order. I sat down with a pen and my notebook and began to jot down all that I had learnt and all that I questioned until that point. Once I'd finished, I leaned back in my chair and sighed. I went back to the page where'd I'd scribbled down Martin Something's rant. I still needed to check up on his HumaBot claims. I decided to visit Mega City's Police Headquarters, where they kept the directories. My press pass would easily let me in, and I would be able to track down the HumaBots that had been in Mega City the day that Martin's family had been killed. I could even track them down.

It had been a long day, and I decided to turn in early. As I passed the balcony, however, I noticed a flash go off in the apartment in the building across the street. I wanted to dismiss it as nothing, but after watching the disc, everything was suddenly suspicious to me. As I later learnt, I was right on the money.

* * *

The first thing I saw on the televiewer as I gobbled my breakfast the next morning was one of my colleagues at MNN announcing yet another of Zulander's Corp-targeted atrocities. Apparently, he'd blown up an entire section of an underground lab that allegedly stored nuclear material.

"He knew about the material," Dr. Hiss was saying, speaking via satellite from his office. "Zulander wanted an explosion to occur." Of course, with Hiss' lisp, it sounded like _Zzzzzulander wanted an exxxplosion to occur._ "The man simply refuses to stop. But we will bring him down - I promise the public that."

After breakfast, I went to the Police Headquarters as per my plan, and I immediately headed to the Directory. I sat at one of the computers and selected HumaBots as my category. The computer asked me what I wanted to cross-reference it with – date, name, gender, the usual. I chose date, since I'd found out the exact day that Martin's family had been killed.

A list of names popped up on the screen, categorized under Name, Age, Gender, Address and Notes. Against Notes, all of them had the words _Mega City: Recovery Lab_ flashing. There were a total of eight HumaBots that had been in Mega City that day. Why would all of them have to have been at the lab? Maybe they'd all been scheduled for routine checks, but my gut was telling me there was more to it than that, because HumaBots didn't really need much routine work. I ran another search against the names that had appeared, this time checking their last check-up dates. All of them had only recently been checked up on. I leaned back in my chair, wondering what my next move should be.

I knew that Dr. Hiss was in charge of the HumaBot program, so I'd need to speak to him. I'd met the man once, and I had found him absolutely repulsive. The very idea of exchanging words with him once more sent shivers down my spine. I thought it better, however, to first go talk to these HumaBots and find out exactly what had happened that day. I scribbled the addresses down in my trusty old notebook and left the Headquarters.

My first stop from there was a HumaBot named Philip. Philip lived in an apartment complex within RM Corp City, close to the HumaBot lab. According to his details, Philip worked for the Corp, although his position within the company was unspecified. I showed my ID to the security bot at the front desk of the apartment building and was sent to Philip's apartment on the twelfth floor.

It wasn't a very big apartment, and most everything was metal. There were hardly any (if none at all) glass items around the apartment. I suppose that was because such things could be easily broken, what with the immense strength that a HumaBot possesses. I was still looking around when I heard heavy footsteps behind me. I spun around to see a green HumaBot smiling at me. It wasn't a very pleasant smile.

"Miss Sharpe. Let me congratulate you on your award before we get down to business." Philip extended a great, beefy hand to me. Fearing greatly for the bones in my own hand, I shook it delicately.

"So, what can I help you with today?" Philip showed me to a velvet sofa that overlooked the balcony.

"Well, actually, I'm investigating an event that took place about a year ago, a mass murder. The sole survivor alleges that HumaBots were involved, and I'm checking up on every HumaBot that was in Mega City that day." I smiled as apologetically as I could, knowing full well that Philip could snap me like a twig if he believed that I was insinuating his involvement in the murder of Martin's family. "You just happened to be the first."

Philip stared hard at me.

I stared right back. "I'm just checking into the claims."

After a while, he stroked his chin thoughtfully. "A year ago, you said? I can't recall what I was doing last week! Anyway, tell me the date."

I told him.

"That day I remember well. I was at the Recovery Lab, getting an update for my in-built optical disks. We need them to keep our juices flowing." Philip gestured to the multitude of criss-crossing wires that nearly covered his entire body. "Without these, my strength equals that of an average man." He snorted loudly. "Then what's the point of being a HumaBot?"

I spent a few more minutes chatting with Philip about the state of affairs in the city, then I showed myself out. I intended to interview all the seven other HumaBots, but I could talk to only four. The other three seemed to have disappeared mysteriously. The four HumaBots that I did talk to told me the same thing that Philip had – that they were all at the lab, getting some update or the other.

That cinched it for me. How could three HumaBots disappear without a trace? Being part of the experimental trials meant that they were very closely monitored. When I went home, called up Philip and the rest and asked about the missing three, they claimed not to know anything about them or their whereabouts.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw it again - the flashing in the building across from mine. This time, I was certain there was someone in that apartment photographing me. But the danger of this job was part of what pulled me toward it. I wasn't going to be scared off by anyone, especially now that I knew that there was more to Lottie's story than meets the eye. I went out on to the balcony and yelled at the apartment.

"Go on, then! Take your best shots! Do what you will! I'm going to find out what you're up to, even if it's the last thing I do! In fact, you spying on me makes me certain that I'm on the right track! So screw you!"

With that, I went back into my apartment and got back to work.

* * *

In the morning, I called Dr. Hiss' office and tied to set up an appointment for that afternoon, only to be told that he would be away for the day at some Krang chip factory out in the country. Zulander's favorite targets were Krang chip factories. No doubt Hiss would be carefully monitoring the situation there. I did, however, manage to get an appointment to meet Lady Frenzy, the VP of RM Corp.

Lady Frenzy is a woman who knows exactly what she wants and will do anything to do it. She is someone who is aware of her assets, and when she starts to play a game, it is very dangerous for the other party, and she always plays to win. Beneath the blonde hair and the fuchsia nail varnish is a dragon that sees nothing but red. She patronizes men with her charms and convinces them of her good intentions. With women, it's slightly tougher, but in the end she always gets her way. I had conducted a series of interviews with her when I was in the midst of my Zulander investigation, and the woman had reminded me of toxic ooze that consumed everything in its path. Now, the idea of going back to her repulsed me, but there was a lot at stake. I needed to do everything in my power to find out the truth about Lottie.

I was greeted at her office door by her personal assistant, a 3A that was pink and yellow in color. _Talk about gaudy,_ I thought to myself as I rolled my eyes.

As I walked into the expansive marble office, I was overwhelmed by the grandeur of it all, even though I'd been there many times before. My gaze immediately fell to the woman who was carelessly typing away at her computer with one hand, and having her nails on the other done by a bot. The smell of her vanish nearly choked me.

"Lisbeth," she purred. "How nice of you to pay me a visit. We simply must toast your success. Congratulations, my darling."

A bot came out from behind me with a tray that had a bottle of champagne and two flute glasses. I shook my head. "It's only eleven, Lady Frenzy! Besides, I never drink on the job. Thank you for the offer, though."

Lady Frenzy looked disappointed. "Oh well. But that is what I so admire about you – your dedication to your work and how you never really beat about the bush." She leaned forward. "Go on, tell me what it is that you wanted to know."

"Well," I began, "I was thinking of following up on the Dallas flight story, and so I've been looking into Zulander's motives and political agenda this time. I was talking to people that were involved with the Dallas flight, as a sort of introduction to this new piece, and I uncovered some facts that seem to point to a bigger story behind the explosion of the plane. I was hoping to speak to you about that."

As I was talking, Frenzy's expression went from mildly curious to dangerously cunning. "What kind of evidence, Lisbeth? Surely you don't think that there was more to the explosion than Zulander?"

"I'm sure Zulander was involved with it somehow. I just think that there are more factors involved than I'd previously thought." I carefully explained what I'd learnt about the crates and the HumaBots, leaving out the more crucial parts and hiding the identities of my sources. Once I was done, Lady Frenzy leaned back in her plush chair and looked at me pointedly.

"Tell me, Lisbeth, do these not seem like unfounded rumors that you are chasing?"

I was taken aback by her comment. "I'm sorry, what?"

"All I'm saying is that maybe you haven't come to terms with Miss Savoy's untimely demise yet. Her memorial service was held just a few days ago, was it not?"

I blinked.

"You poor dear. I think you're still chasing Miss Savoy's ghost. Perhaps you need to stop working so hard for a bit. You know, go on a vacation." Her eyes began to sparkle. "I have a condo in California that you could stay at for a while, so that you can properly recuperate."

This was the biggest rat I'd smelt in my life. Lady Frenzy was, for some reason, deliberately pushing me away. She was indirectly urging me not to pursue the matter any further. But I was in no mood for such bullshit.

"Lady Frenzy, are you telling me that this is really the end of the matter?" There was a steely edge in my voice that I'd never heard before. "So there really is more to this whole affair then I'd previously thought."

Frenzy's eyes flashed menacingly. "I like you, Lisbeth, so I think we should end this right here and right now. You are obviously not in the proper state of mind to be doing anything but resting at home. I have another appointment now. Thank you for stopping by."

I shook my head and stared defiantly at her. "There is no way in hell I am leaving unless and until I get the truth from the Corp."

Frenzy suddenly smiled at me. She lifted a microphone that was placed next to her computer and spoke into it. "Security, kindly escort Ms. Sharpe to the Krang ore convoy waiting downstairs. I will be taking my limo, and I want it ready now."

The door behind me opened, and I spun around in my seat. Two GreenBots emerged and grabbed a hold of each of my arms. They tried to drag me away from the office, but I resisted.

"Frenzy! Get your goons off me!" I screamed in desperation. These bots were much stronger than I'd previously thought – every attempt of mine to escape their grip only resulted in intense pain. "You can't do this! People will ask questions! People are going to notice that I'm missing!"

Just before the bots pressed the chloroform-doused cloth to my face, I heard Frenzy say, "And now you know how we deal with the busybodies that do ask questions. We simply send them away."

* * *

When I regained consciousness, my head felt like I had been assaulted with a million bricks. My vision was blurred and my breathing was quite heavy. Suddenly, the ground beneath me jumped, and I realized that I was in a moving vehicle – a cargo truck, to be more precise.

I allowed myself a few minutes to recover from the chloroform. My head was still spinning, but I heard the 3A in the driver's seat tell someone over the com network that 'the prisoner was safely secured'. _No doubt that the prisoner in question is me_, I thought grimly.

So, escape. Escape escape escape. That was all I could think of. My hands were fastened behind by back, and my feet were loosely bound together by a plastic wire. There were two guard bots in front of me, both of them ready to fire if I decided to try any dirty tricks. I raised my head to see if that would elicit a reaction from them, but they did not move. The truck continued to zoom through hills and valleys. I had a feeling that I was far, far away from home.

Suddenly there was a deafening noise outside the truck. I stood up and peered through the glass that separated the back of the vehicle from the driver's area in front. Through the windshield, I could see a huge tank-like vehicle blocking the narrow road. The truck came to a halt, and the two GreenBots leapt out of the truck, as did the driver.

"GreenBot 57-214 to Lady Frenzy. We are under attack," one of the GreenBots said in what was to me an eerily calm tone for the current situation. (I know all bots sound the same, but that sounded really unnerving at the time.)

All three bots were now brandishing their lasers as they ran to shoot whatever it was that had attacked us. As my captors leapt out of the truck, they did one stupid thing – they left the door open.

The 'escape' mantra that was running through my head suddenly grew much louder. As I heard the sound of lasers being shot by both parties outside on the road, I wondered whether I should wait for the combat to end before making a run for it. But I decided that that would probably take too long, and that I could use the fact that both sides were distracted to escape to safety. If I ran straight on the road for some time and then ducked into the wooded area on either side of the road, I could find a safe place to get the plastic wire off my feet and hands. The only real problem was how I was going to be quick with my bound feet. I assumed that since the wire was rather slack, I could manage to hop a distance away from the fighting.

With my heart in my throat, I jumped out of the truck and tried to get as far away as possible from the unfolding violence.

Not only did I assume wrong, but I also managed to get hit by a laser beam less than twenty seconds into my great escape. I fell flat onto the asphalt, my chest slamming against the road and knocking the air out of my lungs. My head fared worse, as my right temple hit some metal debris that had been scattered on the road as a result of the fighting. A piece of the metal cut me and stayed embedded in my head as I tried (and failed) to hold in a scream of agony. For the second time that day, I began to sway in and out of consciousness as blood from the gash began to flow onto the road.

After about fifteen minutes, as I fought my hardest to stay awake, the fighting ceased. The final casualty of it all, the driver bot, fell with a resounding _clang_ right in front of me, giving me quite a shock. I heard a giddy voice say "Only three? Man, that was too easy."

Another voice said, "You're right, Toolzz. That was far too easy. Something isn't right."

I felt like screaming, _Damn straight something isn't right!_ But all I could manage was "Blrrbmrrh."

Footsteps – both metal and padded – came towards where I lay bleeding. "There's no Krang ore in the truck! Oh damn, that's just the worst luck!"

"Cool it, Jammerzz," said Toolzz.

A softer voice chimed in. "So if there's no Krang ore, what was in the truck?"

A thin, nervous-sounding voice spoke. "Nothing! There's absolutely nothing! I'm nervous. What if this is a trap? I can't fight! I'm helpless!"

"It certainly looks like a trap, Genesix. But for whom? Certainly not us. If that were the case, we'd be surrounded by 3As by now."

Suddenly I felt something nudge my back, almost like a shoe prodding me gently. _Oh shit. They found me,_ I thought, my heart racing faster than ever. _I'm dead for sure._

"Maybe, ZZ, the trap was for _her_," said the soft voice from before.

My fuzzy brain suddenly became alert. _ZZ? Oh hell no. No no no no no no NO! No no no no no no…_

Somebody ran over to me. "It's the lady from the news! So this was all just a ruse!"

"_Jammerzz!"_

"Oh my God, she's badly hurt!" Someone – or something - else ran over to me. "Get her into Twig!"

Someone cut the wires the bound my hands and feet, and I felt my blood rushing to my wrists and ankles. A pair of soft, warm arms gently lifted me up and began to carry me somewhere, probably to whatever the hell Twig was.

But I had other plans for this bastard. I went in for the kill.

"OW!" he yelled, almost dropping me. "What the hell! Why'd you bite me?"

I heard laughter all around him as I tried to blink back the stars and bright spots in my eyes. "Gosh, ZZ, that's a first," one of them said, gasping for breath. (But bots can't breathe, so that was just what it sounded like.)

I had a million terribly rude things to say to Zulander, but all I could manage was a weak, spiteful laugh before I sank once more into the beckoning darkness.

* * *

**_A/N: So there it is - ZZ and the BOYZZ, just like I promised. Guys, please let me know what you think! After all, we're here so that we can improve our writing skills, and the only way to do that is to receive feedback. Thanks for reading!_**


	4. In Which I Slap Ziv Zulander

**_A/N: Another week, another chapter. I'm a little worried about this one - I feel like it's too long, yet I also feel that none of this could be cut out or shifted to another chapter. I was also a little nervus about writing ZZ's dialogues - in the cartoons he comes off as brilliant yet a tad bit immature, but I wanted to portray him as a genius who actually acts his age. I hope to keep everyone in character, but at the same time I don't want the immature characters of the series. Let me know what you think!_**

* * *

**Zephyr**

* * *

_**Chapter Four**_

_**In Which I Slap Ziv Zulander**_

* * *

I remember dreaming about cake. Chocolate mousse cake, to be precise.

It was such a delicious cake too.

Too bad something woke me up just as I was about to polish off the last bit.

* * *

My return to consciousness was caused by a painful pinch on the side of my left arm. I was, however, still too groggy to protest. I had no doubt that somebody had just injected me with something. I fervently prayed that it would not kill me. I tried to open my eyes, but they were too heavy and refused to do so.

At first, I had no recollection of whatever had occurred. My first priority was to clear the cobwebs in my head. I spent some time recollecting the most basic things that I knew, like my full name (Lisbeth Anne-Marie Sharpe – the bulky Anne-Marie being my grandmother's name), my age, (25), my house key code, et cetera. I then managed to move one of my legs, which felt like they were made of lead. But something as cold as ice grabbed it and moved it back into its original position.

"Oh no you don't," a voice said. "You're in no condition to move. Why, if only you could see yourself -"

My eyes opened with great effort. I was immediately blinded by something bright hanging above me.

"Gah!" I yelped embarrassingly and shut my eyes tight.

The same voice spoke again. "The lights! Sorry about that – here, let me dim them…there, you can open your eyes now."

Wanting to be a little more careful this time, I opened just one eye. The mysterious voice had indeed dimmed the lights hanging above me. I looked around me and was shocked to see a multitude of colorful bots surrounding me and snorting. I looked down and my brain went numb. That's when I realized that someone had changed my clothes. I was wearing a hospital gown. You know, the embarrassing, ugly-patterned, backless gown. That one.

The first thing I did was check for my underwear.

Thankfully, it was there. My stomach, however, was wrapped in gauze.

The next thing I realized was that I was at some sort of a clinic. There were four examination tables (I was on the fifth), all with those weird lights hanging above them. There was what I assumed was a quarantine room on one end, with glass separating it from the main clinic. The wall in front of the examination tables was lined with shelves and shelves of medicines, and in another corner there were three defibrillators.

A bot stepped forward. He had a stethoscope connected to the sides of his head and a head mirror strapped to his forehead. He was predominantly white in color, but his arms, belt and some kind of a monitor on his chest were green.

"So…" he started. He was the voice from before. "Welcome back, Miss Sharpe. Don't get up too quickly, though. Take it easy." He helped me sit up so that my legs were now on the side of the table, swinging downwards. I was now facing the bots that had assembled in the clinic.

I still couldn't recall what had happened to me. "Why am I here?" I asked gruffly. "What the hell happened? Where am I?"

"Well, well, well. She sure asks a lot of questions for someone who was out cold for two days," a voice behind me said. I turned to look at the speaker, but she was on her way to face me.

"Blitzy Zulander," I breathed. The flame-haired girl smirked. Suddenly I remembered everything.

Lady Frenzy threatening me, then knocking me out. Me being held captive in the truck. The fighting. Me running, then getting injured.

And, of course, Zulander abducting me.

"It's all coming back to you now, isn't it?" Blitzy sneered. "And now you don't even thank us for all our help. My brother could have taken care of you there and then, but he chose to save your sorry hide."

"I don't need this from you, you delinquent," I snarled. "Someone get me a mirror. Where the hell are my clothes?"

"Shut up, you," Blitzy snarled. "This is my house. You have no right to order anyone around."

"Wake up, little girl. Your brother and his bots kidnapped me. What's your game? Are you going to hold me ransom? Are you going to torture me? What will you do?" I was practically screaming my lungs out in anger.

Someone protested indignantly, "Bots? We aren't _bots!_"

"We're BOYZZ," said a squeaky voice proudly.

"That stands for Brain Operated Young Zygotopic Zoids," said the doctor-robot. "I'm Watzon." He held out a hand. "Nice to meet you."

I shook Watzon's hand in disbelief. "Um…hi. Can I go now?"

"Go? You are in no state to be going anywhere young lady. D'Nerd, could you get a mirror, please?" A yellow bot – no, BOYZZ – with a screen for a head and a keyboard for a chest brought Watzon a mirror, then ran back to stand with the others. Watzon held up the mirror for me.

"See? That gash on your forehead took sixteen stitches to close. You have some severe bruising on your arms and legs, not to mention the internal damage I had to take care of." He peered at me. "You were hit by a laser, you know. And I only just gave you some painkillers."

Blitzy interrupted him with a groan. "Watzon, please. Not now." She turned to a BOYZZ with multiple arms. "Genesix, can we take her down to Level Three? I want some answers from her _now_."

I snickered loudly. "What, an eleven-year-old is going to interrogate me? Look, do us all a favor and go play with your dollhouse, alright?"

There was a bout of laughter from all the BOYZZ, Watzon and Genesix included. Blitzy's face turned beet red.

"You're lucky," she growled, "that I don't set Jungle Fiver on you. That would ensure your silence."

"Bring it, Barbie girl. Give me your best shot." I couldn't believe myself. Here I was, in Zulander's lair, badly injured with no idea of what was going to happen next, and I was arguing with his pre-teen sister.

In my defense, she really was annoying.

A bot dressed like a ninja stepped forward. "Girls, please. Blitzy, shouldn't you be working on upgrading Mirrorz? We need it up and running as soon as possible. Miss Sharpe," he turned to me. But before he could say anything, I recognized his soft voice and spoke.

"You were there. I heard you. You attacked the truck with Zulander."

Suddenly, I heard the hiss of hydraulic doors opening behind me. "Actually, I can explain that, Miss Sharpe." Ziv Zulander walked into the room and stood in front of me. "But first, I think we should get you some food. You must be hungry. You've been out cold for nearly two days."

"I told her already," Blitzy said unnecessarily.

"So." I sneered. "The big man arrives. You must be proud of yourself."

Zulander looked puzzled. "I don't understand."

"I suppose you had to grab this opportunity. It was too good to pass up – the one person who exposed you for the monster that you really are, just sitting there, waiting for you to get her. But you know what? I'm glad this happened. I really am. Because now, I can tell you exactly what I think about you to your face, you scumbag, you weasel…"

"Miss Sharpe," Zulander started.

"…you slimeball, you piece of shit…"

"Miss Sharpe."

"…you snake, you halfwit, you asswipe…"

"_Lisbeth!"_

I stopped ranting and stared at Zulander. I expected him to be furious, to grab me by my shoulders and beat the hell out of me for all my insults. To my surprise, he just looked extremely tired. He sighed and ran one hand through his already unkempt hair.

"Look," he said, turning away from me. "I promise, I'll explain everything. You shouldn't have been there." As he approached the doors, he turned once again and looked at Watzon. "Watzon , could you give Miss Sharpe something to wear and bring her up to the living room, please? Cook says dinner is ready." Then he looked at me. "We can talk then. Oh, and Blitzy?" He looked at his sister and raised an eyebrow. "Leave her alone, will you? She's been through enough, I think. Remember, Mirrorz is waiting."

Before I could think of a retort, the doors closed, and Zulander was gone.

Blitzy was the first to break the silence that had descended upon us. "I wish ZZ wasn't so nice all the time," she scowled.

* * *

Watzon was kind to me. I was surprised by this, seeing as how he was on Zulander's team, but he seemed genuinely concerned about my health. He found me a one-piece white colored jumper to wear, seeing as how my original clothes were covered in blood and torn in a multitude of places. After he'd helped me put it on (I couldn't move very well, thanks to all my injuries), he forced me to sit in a wheelchair, since I was forbidden to walk for the time being, and took me to the living room.

On the way there, I asked Watzon, "You BOYZZ have artificial intelligence, am I right?"

"Well, in a sense, yes. Of course, intelligence in itself cannot be artificial, but I get your drift." He bent to look at me. "You're wondering how, and why there aren't others like us."

"Yeah, I was."

"Well, that's for ZZ to tell you, not me. After all, it is his story."

"But it involves your life."

Watzon laughed. "Yes, well, I think he's looking forward to telling you anyway."

The living room was quite large, and I grudgingly admitted to myself that it was quite well-designed and attractively decorated. It served as a central area, with corridors on all sides leading to what I assumed were the other areas of the house. There was a sunken, circular sitting area with sofas in the middle, with a televiewer in the center. On one side of this sitting area was a complicated-looking computer, where the BOYZZ named Genesix (who had, along with the ninja, been with Zulander when they'd attacked the truck) and Blitzy were working. When I entered, Blitzy turned, glanced at me wordlessly, then went back to her work.

All of Zulander's BOYZZ seemed to be in the living room, doing something or the other. A couple of them were playing sports, and that's when I noticed that all the BOYZZ were radically different in design from each other. A few of them were designed for sports. Two BOYZZ guffawing loudly in a corner looked like they would be better suited for construction work. Then, of course, came the ninja BOYZZ, obviously martial arts-related, and Watzon, who was the medical sort. The ones called Genesix and D'Nerd – they were probably more into the science than the combat part of Zulander's operations. There was a BOYZZ that was shaped like a giant pink insect, and I couldn't place its purpose. There was even a BOYZZ that looked like a child that was sitting on the sofa, playing a handheld video game.

"Hey! Hey girlie! Catch!" yelled a voice behind me, followed by a snigger. I spun around in my chair and ducked just in time to narrowly miss being hit in the face with a volleyball.

"All Ball! Watch it!" Watzon yelled angrily. "She's not ready for that yet!"

"Sorry," All Ball said. He took the ball and went back to the other sports BOYZZ, who were all looking at me now.

I was speechless. This was more like a rowdy classroom than a terrorist base.

"Hey! News lady! _News lady!_" trilled a voice from across the room. To my surprise, there were five robot heads on a shelf, and one of them was calling me.

"These are the Talking Heads," Watzon said. "T1, T2, T3, T4 and T5."

"Um, nice to meet you," I said, stammering.

"We _love _your work," gushed T1. "We watch you on the TV all the time!"

"Ah, really?"

"Even though you insist that ZZ is a terrorist," added T5.

"…okay…"

"You…ha ha…look really…ha ha…hurt!" T2 laughed.

"Well, that's not very funny, now, is it? How about I fry your circuits for a bit and then you see what it's like."

"T2 is always like that," Watzon explained. "At this juncture in time I don't think he can help it."

"Well, can't you, I don't know, fix him or something?" I asked. Watzon shook his head.

"I've examined him multiple times, but his circuits and programming are perfectly fine. That's just his winning personality shining through."

I went over to the sofas and sank into them gratefully. The wheelchair had been rather uncomfortable, and Watzon had assured me that my back had a wicked bruise on it. The plush cushions felt like heaven to me. In fact, I almost dozed off, but the construction BOYZZ had come over to me and sat on either side of me.

"Hey there! I'm Toolzz," said the one on my right. He had four arms, two of which had a wrench and a drill on the ends.

"Jammerzz' the name, jammin's the game!" said the other one. He had a jackhammer for one arm, with two lasers running its length. Sandwiched between them, I felt positively tiny, even though I'm rather tall.

"We were there too, you know," Toolzz said. "With Genesix, Ninjzz, and ZZ. But we didn't know you were gonna be there!"

"Urgh, save it," I muttered. Then I smelt the most delicious smell ever.

My stomach went crazy, and I realized just how hungry I was. I felt like I could eat an elephant (but I'm a vegetarian, so that was just a figure of speech, okay?).

A round pink BOYZZ that was _obviously_ Cook emerged from a pair of doors, holding three plates stacked with pancakes. The pancakes were literally doused with maple syrup. All I wanted to do then was to tackle him and eat everything.

_Everything._

He set one plate in front of me and said in a slight Italian accent, "You must be the news lady the Talking Heads were telling me about. Go on, eat up. There's plenty more where that came from."

At that point, the possibility that the food could be poisoned or drugged didn't even cross my mind. Without thanking him, I began to eat the food vociferously.

"Wow, she can sure put food away, huh?" Blitzy said sarcastically.

"She appreciates my talent," said Cook proudly.

Blitzy sat on the sofa across from me and prodded her own pancakes. "They…look edible."

"Mmmh, they're delicious," I said, my mouth filled with food.

"You must have been hit hard," Blitzy retorted. Cook's smile fell.

"Aw, don't listen to her, Cook. These pancakes are amazing," I said. I meant every word.

The doors through which I'd entered the room opened once again, and Zulander walked in.

"She's heeere," sang T1. Zulander's eyes immediately darted around the room and found me. I waved at him mockingly, and he nodded. Cook handed him his plate, and he sat down next to Blitzy.

"You owe me an explanation, bomb boy," I said. The whole room suddenly fell silent.

Zulander sighed again. "Yes, I do. Where do I begin?"

"The beginning is usually an awesome place to start." Clichéd, I know, but hey.

Zulander laughed. "Well, recently we received some intel that told us the Corp was making a delivery of 30 tons of Krang ore to a factory just outside the town of Hartford. Our plan was to make sure that the shipment never made it.

"We had been waiting to ambush the truck. But as you know, there was no ore in there, just you. You were badly injured, and I didn't want to leave you lying in the middle of the road like that, so we brought you back here so that Watzon could have a look at you." He looked right into my eyes. "Would you mind telling me why you were tied up like that?"

"And why you bit him. Tell him that too," Jammerzz sniggered.

"Wait just a minute. That's it? That's your big explanation? How can I believe you when I know exactly what kind of monster you are?" I was seething with anger, pancakes long forgotten.

"I know you're probably not going to believe me when I say this, but I'm not the guy that the Corp makes me out to be. I'm no terrorist, Miss Sharpe."

I began to shake with fury. "Really. Really. Then _explain Carlotta Savoy!_"

Zulander's eyes widened. "What? Explain what about Carlotta?"

Blitzy nudged him. "She's the one that did the report on you, ZZ. Carlotta's best friend."

"You killed my best friend. Now you've kidnapped me. What are you going to do next?"

Zulander relaxed. "Miss Sharpe, rest assured, I have not kidnapped you, but I would advise you to listen to what I have to say. And believe me when I say Carlotta is very much alive."

At that moment, my brain stopped functioning. All I could think of was what he'd said.

_Carlotta is very much alive._

Without thinking, I walked over to Zulander and slapped him across his face. The whole room gasped collectively.

"Shut up." Tears filled my eyes. "Shut up, Zulander. Of all the things you could have said, that was the cheapest."

Zulander massaged his cheek, wincing. "Ow, I think that was uncalled for. Will you please just listen? I'm not asking for much here, am I?"

Still glowering at him, I sat down again. I tried my best to hold back my tears.

"Now will you please tell me why you were in the back of that truck?"

"That was all thanks to Lady Frenzy." I reluctantly explained the entire situation to Zulander. Unlike me, he listened patiently to the whole thing. Once I was done, he leaned back.

"This is related to what I'm going to tell you next, but I hope you've realized that the Corp isn't what they say they are." He bit his lip. "Just like I'm not who they say I am. You may not want to accept this, but they must have been hoping that I would blow up the truck without realizing that you were inside it."

I admitted that that did make a little sense.

"I once worked with the Corp."

"I know. I investigated you rather thoroughly. You created the 3A, the licence of which you sold to Sir Lewis Leon Paradim. You then worked for the RM Corp for three years. You were their youngest employee, and the youngest doctorate holder in the state."

"Well done." Zulander grinned. "But the last year that I was with them, I realized that something wasn't right. After doing some digging, I found out that the Corp planned to gradually equip all the bots in the world with a Krang chip. This chip would allow them to take direct control of the bots."

I stared at him blankly, unsure of what to believe.

"That is why I went into hiding and started this fight against the Corp. My intention is not to hurt anyone – I just want to expose the Corp for what it is, and I want to see it come crashing down. My sister and my BOYZZ are helping me achieve that goal."

"Then what about Carlotta? And what do you mean, she's not dead?"

"That day, we learnt of a plan to blow up a plane that was going to be filled with journalists that held critical opinions of the Corp. One of them was Carlotta Savoy. The plane was supposed to blow up in mid-air, and I was to be blamed. I wanted to make sure this wouldn't happen." His voice took on a steely edge. "We got on the plane, but could find the explosives, so we decided to hide ourselves on board in the overhead baggage compartments.

"The plan was ingenious, really. Mid-way through the flight, bots that looked like me and my BOYZZ emerged from the toilets and threatened everyone on board. All the journalists ran for the safety pod – all of them, that is, except Carlotta. I think she'd smelt a rat."

"That's Lottie, nose of a bloodhound," I said weakly. I then understood that the three airport employees had seen the Zulander bot inside the crate, not Zulander himself.

"Anyway, once the escape pod was activated and it was released, the bots stopped acting like us. That's when we emerged. I took a look at the bomb, which had been cleverly hidden inside my lookalike's head, but I couldn't defuse it in time, so we jumped from the plane." He stared at me. "Carlotta included."

I gaped at him. "You're saying you saved Lottie."

Zulander nodded. "After that, Carlotta went back to her boss, who reported her survival to Dr. Hiss. The Corp took her to their HumaBot lab with the intention of turning her into one."

I interrupted. "That corresponds with what Martin had said."

"We had to break into the lab in order to save her. After that, she said she needed to get away from Mega City for a while. Well, it's been a year now." Zulander looked at me from the corner of his eye. "I know where she is, Lisbeth. She's safe, I can assure you."

I felt my entire world collapsing around me in that second. I couldn't think of anything to say. I didn't know what to do with myself.

I couldn't believe it. All that I'd done, everything that I'd stood up for…all of it had been a lie.

"I'm a lie," I breathed. "I'm a lie."

Everything was silent for some time. Finally Blitzy got up.

"I'm tired of this. I'm going down to the Control Centre."

After she'd left, Zulander asked me, "I can't imagine what this is like for you, but I can offer you one thing: would you like to know where she is?"

I nodded wordlessly.

* * *

That night, I was given a room of my own to sleep in. The house was much bigger than I'd imagined, but suspiciously, there were no windows. When I asked Bogey, one of the sports BOYZZ, where the house was located, he simply snickered and told me I'd never be able to guess.

Someone had gone to my house (how did they bypass the security code? I needed to change that later) and brought me some fresh clothes and my pajamas. I hit the sack almost immediately, but I found that sleep was eluding me, not only because I ached all over, but also because I couldn't stop thinking about all that I had heard. I finally decided to get a midnight snack from the kitchen.

Once I'd found the kitchen (which took me about fifteen minutes, since it was dark, and I was limping), I made myself some hot chocolate and went back to the living area. I noticed that the Talking Heads were asleep (that is, if bots could sleep, which they technically can't – the Talking Heads were just humming a bit). I sat down gingerly and gazed into the blackness as I sipped the hot chocolate, not knowing what to think.

I wasn't alone for very long. Soon after I'd sat down, someone else came in, but I couldn't see who it was even though by then, my eyes had become adjusted to the darkness. Whoever it was sat right next to me, slipping on to the sofa just as quietly as me. I sat very still, not knowing what to do.

"Rough day, huh?" the person asked.

I took advantage of the darkness and told him something I could never have to his face. "I'm sorry I bit you. And slapped you."

"That's the first time anyone's done that," Zulander said. "I suppose it was because you thought I'd killed Carlotta."

"Yeah. Still, it was immature of me to do those things. How did you know I was here?"

"Night vision goggles." Zulander switched on a small light on a pair of night vision goggles that were perched on the top of his head, illuminating his face. "Sometimes the BOYZZ leave things lying about on the floor. Blitzy once twisted her ankle when she came to get a glass of water in the middle of the night and slipped on a golf ball that Bogey had left behind."

I couldn't help but laugh at a mental image of Blitzy wailing as she slipped. "Why are you even awake at this hour?"

He was silent for some time. "Genesix had recorded your investigation on me last year. I never had a chance to watch it till now." He pursed his lips. "You seemed really angry."

I snorted. "Angry? Hell yeah. I wanted to track you down and chop you into a million tiny pieces. I suppose I just channeled all that rage and pain into something that could I thought could prove that Lottie didn't die for nothing." I sighed. "And now you tell me she's hale and hearty."

"Well, I don't know about that. The last time I talked to her was six months ago." He smiled at me, and for the first time I noticed a mischievous gleam in his green eyes. "She watches you on the televiewer all the time, you know."

"Well, it would have been nice if she'd called once in a while," I grumbled. "She's my best friend!"

"And that's exactly why she didn't call," Zulander said gently. "She wanted to keep everyone she loved away from the danger that she now hides from."

"The Corp." I said sardonically.

"That's right. My phone line is secure, so there's no way of tracing a call either to or from here, which is why she calls once in a while."

"Speaking of all things secret and hidden, where exactly is this house located? The Corp can't find you, the cops can't find you, and I couldn't either."

"It's simple," he grinned. "We're underground."

"No kidding."

"Really! My grandfather built this house, you know."

"Smart man, your grandpa. How on Earth could he have predicted that you would one day need to use the family home as a secret hideout?"

"Very funny."

"Sarcasm aside, though, why are you telling me all this? I could be spying for the Corp. I could just as well be wearing a wire and recording all this."

"Watzon checked you for bugs, so we know you're clean. Also, I know you wouldn't sell us out. I can tell what you're thinking – you don't believe me entirely, but you can't deny that what I've said so far ties in with what you've experienced and can also explain so much of what has happened over the past year."

"Ten on ten, Professor Zulander."

"Actually, it's Doctor."

"I knew that."

After a few seconds of silence, Zulander spoke again. "You know, Lisbeth, I'm really hoping that you'll believe me entirely once you've spoken to Carlotta. A large part of what I'm doing is misconstrued and misrepresented on a daily basis, and if I'm able to convert even one person, that's a huge success for me."

"I promise I'll keep my mind open. I'll admit I was blinded by Lottie's 'death'. Looking back, I can now see that my investigation wasn't the most impartial one."

Zulander nodded and began to stare off into space. I began to feel sorry for him, even though I kept telling myself that I shouldn't. I simply couldn't bear the awkwardness of the situation.

"So…this fighting. Is this really worth it? Why didn't you just go to the press with evidence and save yourself all this?"

He exhaled. "Do you really think anyone would have believed me? You do know who owns MNN, right?"

"Sure, Sir Lewis Leon Paradim holds the controlling stake in its shares…Ah, shit."

"Paradim holds stocks in all the major media companies in Mega City. I wouldn't have been able to get away with a tell-all story. So I chose to fight with my BOYZZ instead of with words."

"I noticed the careful avoidance of the term 'weapons'."

"My BOYZZ aren't weapons, they're family." He turned to face me again. "I built the BOYZZ because I was lonely. Blitzy was at boarding school back then. I would spend all my time with the BOYZZ – working, playing, travelling, what have you. When I began my fight against the Corp, they joined me willingly."

"What about the various lasers and machines that you use while fighting against the Corp? You know there's video footage of that."

Zulander winced. "Well, I suppose those are technically weapons."

"But no one is supposed to get hurt, right?"

"Right."

"Hey, one more thing."

"Shoot."

"How did you get into my apartment? I have a state-of-the-art biometric security system."

"Nothing's too difficult for me and my BOYZZ." Zulander folded his arms across his chest and beamed proudly.

"…Jammerzz knocked my door down, didn't he?"

"Don't worry, he and Toolzz fixed it right after they took your stuff. Or so I'm told."

I rolled my eyes. Silence fell upon us for some time.

"Hey," Zulander started. "Do you know Lonnie Chang, by any chance?"

"Yeah, she's a good friend of mine. Why?"

"Just asking."

"Really."

"Really."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"…_really?"_

"_Yes! Really! Just asking!"_

I punched him in the arm.

"Come to think of it, you're rather violent, you know," said Zulander, massaging his arm.

* * *

**_A/N: That's the end of Chapter Four. Feedback would be greatly appreciated!_**


	5. In Which I Meet AnneMarie Smith

**_A/N: Hello again! Well, I don't have much to say, but I did want to ask you guys if you would like a preview of the next chapter at the end of every new chapter that I upload. Leave me a message if you think that's a good idea, okay?_**

**_I would also like to thank _RainThePiscean_, who has added this story to Story Alert. I hope you're enjoying the tale so far._**

* * *

**Zephyr**

* * *

_**Chapter Five**_

_**In Which I Meet Anne-Marie Smith**_

* * *

After the midnight conversation, I went back to my assigned room and fell asleep. The next day, Watzon declared me fit enough to visit Lottie that night. Apparently it had to be a rather covert operation, since Lottie's safety was at risk, and we didn't want to blow her cover. I was asked whether I could fly a glider, and when I replied in the negative, there were a lot of worried looks exchanged between man and BOYZZ.

"It's okay, we'll figure it out" was all that Zulander had to say to me before he insisted on introducing me to all the BOYZZ.

"Well, let's see…you know Watzon, Toolzz, Jammerzz, Genesix and Ninjzz, right?"

"Actually, I've also met Cook, the Talking Heads, All Ball and Bogey."

"Alright then. BOYZZ, line up, please." On his command, all the BOYZZ formed a single line facing me and Zulander.

"Batzz and Ace, the other two sports BOYZZ." Batzz and Ace waved enthusiastically at me. "Batzz plays baseball, and Ace tennis."

"I play tennis, but not that well. I'd love a good game," I told Ace.

"We'll fix a date," he promised. Zulander moved on.

"This is Kiddie," he said, pointing to the child-like BOYZZ I had seen earlier. "He was made for Blitzy so that she wouldn't feel lonely."

"Hi Lisbeth!" Kiddie squealed. "Nice to meet you!"

"Nice to meet you too, Kiddie. Say, do you have any good video games stashed around here? I noticed you playing one yesterday."

"I sure do! You name it, I've got it! I can't wait for us to play together!"

The next BOYZZ, Swang, was the pink insect I had seen with Kiddie the previous day. Swang spoke in an unintelligible electronic voice, but somehow Zulander was able to understand her perfectly.

"If you stay with her long enough, she's easy to understand," he assured me.

"Thanks, but I'm not planning on staying here any longer than I need to."

Zulander smiled weakly.

Next up were Freehand, who was – you guessed it – a flying hand, and Birden, a bird-type BOYZZ.

"I was too busy to program him with an accurate navigation system, so that's how he flies," Genesix informed me apologetically when Birden unsuccessfully attempted to land on a chair but ended up knocking me to the ground.

The last BOYZZ was a giant named Twig, who also happened to be a perfect gentleman (sorry, gentleBOYZZ). He was designed to function with Zulander's car, which explained what 'Get her into Twig' meant. He could also fly if the need arose (how cool is that?).

"How are you feeling now?" Twig asked me.

"Oh, much better, thanks to Watzon. Um, if I bled on the upholstery, I apologize."

Everyone began to laugh at me, and I felt my face grow hot.

"No, you didn't. ZZ's outfit got it all." Twig said.

I turned to Zulander and apologized. He laughed again. "Don't worry; I got all of it out. I tend to get injured a lot, so the outfit is designed in such a way that blood really doesn't leave any stains behind."

I grinned. "Ziv Zulander – inventor, engineer _and_ costume designer. I'm impressed."

"What can I say? I'm a man of many talents."

I rolled my eyes at him.

"Well, it was nice to meet you all," I turned and told the BOYZZ. "And I apologize for everything I've been saying about you guys for the past year."

"Wow, the BOYZZ are great," I said, flopping down on the sofa once everyone had left. "You must be really proud of them."

Zulander nodded. "I am. They're all I have, actually. They've supported me through everything, and I don't think I could have done any of this without them. No one can reach a goal if the people they love don't support them through the struggle of achieving it."

I girmaced. "That's not true. All you need is the courage and perseverance to see yourself through and you can go wherever you want to."

"And how is that?"

"My parents wanted me to be an engineer - something like you. When I chose to pursue journalism, they stopped speaking to me altogether. After a while, I got tired of the silence and the disapproving looks, so I moved out. I put myself through college, working whenever I should have been studying or enjoying myself. When I landed a job with Lottie at MNN, I was so relieved, and most importantly, I was proud of myself. Only after doing all that did I realize that I have a strength inside me that I never knew I did, and that I could do a lot more by exploiting it."

All Zulander did was nod once.

"What, we agree to disagree?"

He smiled. "Something like that. Are your parents proud of the person you are today?"

"I don't know. I haven't talked to them in years. I just can't bring myself to contact them."

"Oh." Zulander looked at his feet. "My parents died when I was fifteen. Blitzy was only a few months old when our grandfather took us in. He died just as soon as I began working for the Corp."

"Sorry."

"For what?"

"I don't know, isn't it what people usually say when you hear things like this?"

He shrugged. "It doesn't make much sense, does it? Why would you be sorry unless you did something?"

"I am doing something. I'm feeling sorry for you."

"Well, there's no need to do that. My family is right here, and I regret nothing." He got up. "Well, I'd better get a move on if I want things to be ready for tonight."

"But I told you, I can't fly a glider."

"Don't worry, I've found a solution."

As he walked away, I yelled after him. "It better not involve any fancy stunts!"

* * *

As it turned out, it did involve a fancy stunt – a stunt that if orchestrated incorrectly would lead to me being a splat on someone's rooftop.

"Just hold on to me," Zulander said, holding his arms out. "Nothing's going to happen."

"You're kidding me, right?" I asked, looking at the town below.

Twig had flown us to a tiny little town nestled in the heart of the mountains, when Zulander said Carlotta lived. We'd landed on a hill, from where Zulander said we'd need to glide down to Lottie's house.

"Why can't we just drive down there?"

"It would be too conspicuous to go into town. Someone might call the authorities. I haven't brought any of the other BOYZZ with me for that same reason, so we have no reinforcements in case things get ugly."

"What d'you think this is, the OK Corral?"

"Just because it's a small town does not mean the police are not armed."

"There's probably just one sheriff and two or three deputies. By the way, even if we do glide down, how do we get back up here?"

"We don't. We wait until it gets really late, then hike to a pass two miles south from here. Twig will pick us up there."

"Look, what happens if you drop me?"

"I'm not going to drop you. Look, just tr-" He stopped short.

I raised an eyebrow. "Trust you? Not yet. Not till I see Lottie."

"You're still going to need to hang on." He raised his arms again.

I wanted to cry. "I'm totally going to regret this."

"Bye, you two," Twig said breezily.

I hugged Zulander as tightly as I could, and he did the same.

"Okay, hang on. One, two, three…now!" Both of us leapt off the hill. I was sure I was going to die in that moment. In fact, I was so scared I couldn't bring myself to scream.

I closed my eyes tightly and gritted my teeth. We were falling for what seemed like eternity. A sudden jerk made me open my eyes, and I saw that Zulander had opened the glider, which he'd been wearing on his back.

A seat opened behind me.

"That's for you," he said, grinning broadly.

I managed to maneuver myself into the seat carefully and gave him a really dirty look.

"This is the same glider I used when Carlotta and I jumped off the plane. I thought it fitting to bring it out into the field again."

"Hmm. Smarmy much?"

Zulander safely set us down in the middle of a thick grove of trees. He pointed to a faint light that was shining through the foliage.

"If I'm correct, that would be Carlotta's backyard."

"And if you're wrong, we'd be giving some old lady a heart attack."

He folded the glider back into its pack form, which he wore on his back again. We set off towards the porch light, and in about fifteen minutes, we'd reached the house.

"Nice digs," I quipped. (I tend to say stupid or unnecessary things when I'm shaking in my boots. Another thing that happens is that some song starts to play on repeat in my head. This was also happening, the song in question being 'You'd Be Better Off (Without Me)' by Randall Krandall and the Handle.)

We walked over to the front of the house after making sure that there was no one on the street. Once we'd stepped on to the front porch, I turned to Zulander.

"Well," I said, taking a deep breath, "here goes nothing."

I rang the doorbell and stepped back.

For a while, it seemed like no one was going to answer. My heart was thumping so loudly that I was sure everyone within a two-mile radius was able to hear it.

Then I heard footsteps shuffling towards the door.

My best friend opened the door, took one look at me and threw her arms around me, sobbing uncontrollably.

* * *

Minutes later, after both of us had had ourselves a good cry, Lottie ushered us inside and set cups of tea down in front of us.

"You're a bitch, you know that, right?" I said to Lottie.

She smiled weakly. "I couldn't afford to call you. They'd try to hurt you too. I didn't see any other option." She leaned forward in her chair. "I had to. I just had to."

"No, you didn't. I would have helped you. Remember that time when Kenzie Miller hit you in the face in eighth grade, and I went and adjusted her nose for you?"

"You're not seriously comparing the RM Corp to Kenzie Miller, are you?"

"You know, I think I just did." I studied her carefully. "For a dead person, you look really good."

"You too. Except, you know, you're not dead." Both of us laughed. "I saw the piece you did for me. I was really touched."

"I was mad at everyone. That's all."

"And your GMA?"

"Awarded to me by a company whose propaganda I spouted. The first thing I'm going to do when I get home is throw it away. Look, Lottie, there's something I need to tell you."

I told her everything that had happened to me up to that point.

"I knew something was terribly wrong when I saw that bandage on your forehead. Are you okay? And be serious," Lottie commanded.

"I'm fine. Watzon's taken good care of me. The bruises have magically disappeared, the internal damage might as well have never happened, and now I'm just sore all over."

"Ahem." Both of us looked at Zulander, about whom we had completely forgotten. He was smiling at us. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Carlotta, but could you point me to the washroom?"

"You can trust him, you know," Lottie whispered to me as he got up. Both of us watched him from Lottie's living room. "He's the real victim."

"Are you sure? I mean, so far, everything seems to add up, but I can't bring myself to trust the equation. There has to be a kernel of truth in it somewhere."

Lottie shook her head. "He's the only obstacle that Paradim faces in his goal of world domination."

"_World domination_? What is this, a bad spy thriller?"

"Sharpie, I'm serious. Paradim has been pursuing the world presidency ever since it was announced. I have no idea just how many dirty tricks the man has played to get where he is, and he's determined to rise even higher."

"Well, Zulander did say something about controlling all the bots in the world with Krang chips."

"That's true. That's the Corp's main agenda. A majority of what ZZ does is making sure the Krang chips don't reach the bots. I haven't talked to him about the other things that the Corp does. In fact, in the past year, I've done some digging myself."

"A true journalist. Even in death, Carlotta Savoy tracks down the truth."

"And I know you'll do the same just as soon as you get back to Mega City. I must warn you –Paradim is the boss, but Lady Frenzy is his right-hand woman, as you found out. She's the one who tried to butter me up before the Dallas flight, and I later found out she'd been the one who arranged for the plane to explode. She was the one who ordered Hiss to turn me into a HumaBot too."

I nodded somberly and looked around the room. "So, what's your alias now?"

She smiled. "I go by Anne-Marie Smith now."

"A wise choice indeed."

Lottie fell silent. She glanced in the direction that Zulander had disappeared. She continued to stare as I studied her expression carefully. I'd known this girl for years, and this was an open-and-shut case.

"You like him!" I exclaimed gleefully. Lottie's eyes widened.

"Shut up!" she hissed. "I swear, you are so loud sometimes -"

"Ooh la la, Lottie! You are quite the smooth operator."

"He asked me to join him," she said quietly. I stopped giggling.

"What d'you mean, 'join him'?"

"As in, fight with him. But I was too scared. I walked away. That's all I am – a coward. I've been running all this time, and I can't bring myself to stop."

"I don't think you're a coward, Lottie. You did what you had to. Think of what would have happened if you had chosen to stay with him, even though you knew you didn't want to fight. You made your choice, and if you believed in it then, you should believe in it now as well."

Lottie opened her mouth to say something, but fell silent just as Zulander walked in. He smiled at us and retreated to the corner where he'd previously been sitting, leaving us to gossip.

We sat and talked for about two hours more until Zulander announced that it was time for us to leave. At the door, Lottie whispered in my ear, 'Don't do anything stupid, Lisbeth."

"I'm a big girl. I can handle myself. I'm more worried about you, _Anne-Marie_."

"The Corp hasn't found me yet, and they never will." Lottie turned to Zulander. "ZZ, I want to thank you for everything you've done for both of us. Promise me that nothing will happen to Sharpie."

Zulander nodded gravely as I rolled my eyes. Lottie hugged both of us before we headed off for the pass.

* * *

Twig was waiting for us, just as Zulander had said. Both of us got into the car wordlessly. We drove up to the hill again, from where Twig launched himself into the air with a gut-wrenching maneuver.

After about half an hour, Zulander spoke. "She's doing well, isn't she?"

"Yeah, she is. Thanks for taking me."

He turned to me. "Are you convinced now?"

I pressed my lips together. "I am."

"Listen to Carlotta. Don't do anything that can endanger your safety. The Corp already knows you escaped. If you try anything else, they will come after you again, and they'll try harder than ever to make sure you never talk."

"Wait, how do they know I'm alive?"

He handed a laser disk to me. "Genesix burned this for you. It's from Mirrorzz, the program we use to spy on Lady Frenzy. He and Blitzy recorded this today morning, just as soon as they'd finished repairing it."

I took the disc and put it in the pocket of my jacket.

Twig soon landed on the outskirts of Mega City, and began to drive into the city.

"Where are we going?" I asked Zulander. "Aren't we going…back?"

"No, I'm taking you home." Zulander said, his eyes fixed on the windshield.

We soon stopped a block away from my apartment building. I got out of the car and looked at Zulander, who was still seated inside.

"Thanks for everything, ZZ," I said, extending my hand. He shook it with a broad grin.

"It was nice meeting you, Sharpie." The door closed and Twig and Ziv 'ZZ' Zulander sped off into the night.

I ran to my apartment as fast as I could. Once safely inside, I spent two hours checking the house for bugs and cameras. Once I was sure that I wasn't being spied upon, I began to watch the laser disc that Zulander had given me.

It was a video feed of Frenzy's office. She was typing away at her computer with her stupid, perfectly manicured nails. I pictured myself breaking each of her fingers with a brick.

She continued to type for quite some time until Dr. Hiss walked in. "I heard you had a rather annoying visitor yesterday, Lady Frenzy."

"Not to worry, Dr. Hiss," Frenzy said in that annoying, airy voice of hers. "I have taken care of Miss Sharpe. I don't think she will be interfering in the Corp's business any more. I was assured that Zulander attacked the truck, just as we predicted."

"What you didn't predict, Lady Frenzy, was Miss Sharpe getting out of the truck and being discovered by Zulander." Hiss sucked in some air with his tube before continuing. "And as we all know, Zulander's heart bleeds for the maidens that he finds along the course of his misadventures. I had a StealthBot shadow the truck. It recorded the following audio." Hiss pulled a portable recorder, much like my own, out of his pocket. He hit 'Play' and set it down on the table.

At first there was a lot of zapping, banging and crashing. Then came the conversation that I had heard even in my delirium.

"_Only three? Man, that was too easy."_ Toolz.

"_You're right, Toolzz. That was far too easy. Something isn't right."_ ZZ.

"_There's no Krang ore in the truck! Oh damn, that's just the worst luck!"_ Jammerzz.

"_So if there's no Krang ore, what was in the truck?"_ Ninjzz.

"_Nothing! There's absolutely nothing! I'm nervous. What if this is a trap? I can't fight! I'm helpless!" _Genesix.

"_It certainly looks like a trap, Genesix. But for whom? Certainly not us. If that were the case, we'd be surrounded by 3As by now."_ ZZ again.

"_Maybe, ZZ, the trap was for _her_."_ Ninjzz, upon finding me.

Hiss stopped the recorder and Frenzy's expression grew monstrous. "Damn Zulander," she said softly, her words laced with venom.

"What do you propose we do now? She'll bring hell down on us."

"Leave her for now," Frenzy said. "We've got bigger fish to fry. We still need to work towards getting President Bando's aides on LLP's side."

"Lisbeth Sharpe is not the type to learn a lesson so quickly," Hiss warned Frenzy.

"Well then, we'll wait for her to make the next move. If she's with Zulander at the moment, we won't be able to track her. When she comes out, we'll catch her." Frenzy turned back to her computer, leaving Hiss looking disappointed. The video suddenly ended.

I sat in the silence for a while, trying to decide what the best course of action would be. After an hour, I'd made up my mind. I picked up the phone and dialed the number of one of my colleagues.

"Dude, it's two in the morning. Who the hell is this?" a sleepy voice asked.

"Dan, it's Sharpie. I'm sorry, but this can't wait. I need your help, but I need to speak to you in person tomorrow."

"No can do, Sharpie, I've got to talk layouts with the graphics department. What's this all about? You're supposed to be on leave, right?"

"I'm never on leave, Dan. Please, help a girl out. You're the only one I know who can bypass the server locks."

"Lisbeth Sharpe, are you asking me to engage in illegal activity for you?"

"I'm not at liberty to say yet. But you know that I have serious dirt on you, so you don't have a choice."

There was a long sigh. "This had better be good."

"Oh, it is. This is the story of the century. The sooner it's online, the better."

"I don't understand why you need me, though. You could just log in yourself. There's absolutely no need to bypass the server."

"This is too big for a blog post or a half-hour televiewer spot. I need this circulating all over the internet as soon as possible. This may _literally_ end up killing me."

"What a drama queen," Dan muttered, and ended the call.

I sat there in front of my laptop for the next six hours, working right till the morning sun broke from between the buildings of the city outside – a city whose foundations would begin to crumble right after I was done with the truth.

* * *

**_A/N: ...and that brings us to the end of another chapter. Please leave a review and tell me what you think! Have a great week!_**


	6. In Which I Break Out Of Jail

**_A/N: Hello to those who are still reading! I apologize for the delay in an update; I was (and still am) busy with college applications, and I happen to have a rather bad case of writers' block. Still, I don't intend to abandon this story one bit. I've got it all planned out (yes, that's right, even the very end) and I must say I enjoy writing with Lisbeth's bitchy voice in my head. Weird, no? _**

**_I wanted to elaborate on something that _Cybaster _has told me in a review that was submitted. It was indeed my intention to make not just the RM Corp, but also the entire BM universe and its characters in general, seem darker than in the cartoons. Sometimes, when life gives you lemons, it sometimes also tends to squirt some juice into your eyes before letting you make lemonade. The good guys don't always win, and the path to victory is often created through sacrifice and hard work. In the cartoons, life for the Zulanders is violent, but also quite hilarious, and this would not be the case in reality. So I tried to make this story as accurate as possible in relation to what the Zulanders, RM Corp and Lisbeth might go through if they did indeed exist. I hope I'm doing well so far. Feel free to let me know what you guys think!_**

**Zephyr**

* * *

_**Chapter Six**_

_**In Which I Break Out Of Jail**_

* * *

"Well, it's up," said Dan, looking away from my laptop with a frown on his face. "There's no turning back now."

"I never intended to," I replied, setting a mug of coffee down on the table for him. He turned away from my laptop and took a swig.

Dan had come over three hours ago, and it was now ten-thirty in the morning. Just beyond the window. Mega City seemed the same, but my world was just about to get shaken, and what I'd asked Dan to do for me would be the reason behind it.

"This is an awfully dangerous game you've decided to participate in, Sharpie. Do you really know what you're getting yourself into?" Dan asked me for the umpteenth time.

"Yes, I do. And don't worry; no one is going to find out that you were involved. I mean, truth be told, they might suspect it, but they can't prove a thing." I sipped my own coffee. "Thanks a lot, Dan. You're a real friend."

"If I was a real friend, I'd have talked you out of this idiocy."

"I have to do this. I can't sit in the shadows and spread the lies that the Corp feeds us. All of us at MNN are as good as their slaves. My GMA just proves that they would do anything to make sure that the public believes anything and everything that they say."

"But this letter…" Dan gestured to my laptop, where he had been working all that time. "None of this can be proved. You are going to be in deep, deep shit for this."

I had asked Dan to hack into MNN's website and post a letter that I had written to the general public. In it, I detailed exactly what I had been through in the past week (but leaving out the bits about how I met ZZ and how he helped me, and that Lottie was still alive). I wrote about my research till then, the airport workers' experience, how Lady Frenzy had had me drugged and intended to kill me, et al. I apologized for not believing ZZ, and I announced my intention to quit my job at MNN.

"Let the rivers of filth flow. I need people to know about this. Besides, as a journalist, getting into danger comes with the job. At this point in time, I don't care about what happens to me, as long as everyone knows the truth."

Dan raised an eyebrow. "It may be the truth to you, but to everyone else it just looks like libel."

I ignored him. "You should probably go. The fuzz might decide to raid my house or something. I don't want you getting implicated in this."

"It might be a little too late for that." Dan shook my hand. "It was a pleasure knowing you, Lisbeth."

"Oh, shut up."

After Dan left, I turned the televiewer on and set it to MNN. I wanted to see just how fast people would notice what I'd asked Dan to do. I was sitting idle for about forty-five minutes before scheduled programming switched to breaking news. To my surprise, Lonnie was the newsreader.

"We interrupt Business Daily for a new story," Lonnie said, confusion clearly etched on her forehead. "MNN's website has been temporarily shut down due to a malevolent attack that occurred a quarter of an hour ago. A letter allegedly written by GMA winner Lisbeth Sharpe was put up on the website that makes several malicious claims against the RM Corp and several of its top officials, as well as making allegations about terrorist Ziv Zulander's innocence."

A past photo of mine flashed on screen. It was taken last summer by Lonnie herself, when we'd gone on vacation to the Grand Canyon. I sat grinning broadly on a bench, my hair flying in the breeze, a great view of the canyon behind me.

"Sharpe is currently on leave and is currently unreachable for comment. She rose to prominence after investigating the disastrous Dallas flight that killed one of MNN's own, Carlotta Savoy, which was masterminded by Zulander." A photo of me and Carlotta at a bar on Lottie's 24th birthday popped up. "Sharpe and Savoy had been childhood friends. We will keep you updated as this story progresses."

Lonnie vanished and was replaced by our business editor, who continued with the state of the stock markets.

I left the televiewer on and checked 's message boards. My letter had been taken down, but the forums were replete with copies of it, and already a virtual war seemed to have erupted, with a few taking my side (along with ZZ's), others saying that the letter was a fake and how I would never do such a thing because I hate ZZ, and others just saying that I'd gone completely insane.

I was trolling through various threads for about three hours before the police kicked my door down.

* * *

"I don't understand what I'm being charged with," I complained loudly for the seventh time. My voice echoed in the tiny interrogation room, causing the detective before me to snarl.

"Will you shut up?" he growled, slamming the table. "Shut up, lady, before I get someone to stun you."

"Ooh, just like in the movies. I'm so scared."

"Listen here, wiseass. I'm twice your size and I can crush you like a bug if you irritate me any further."

"Well then, Officer Dipshit, try your best. I would love to see your superiors come in and suspend you for mistreating me. They're behind the mirror watching us, aren't they?" I turned around in my chair and addressed the mirror. "Listen, we've all seen this is countless shows and movies, and I'm getting bored. Either tell me what you're charging me with or I walk out of here in ten seconds. Nine, eight, seven, six…"

The door opened. A man in an impeccable suit walked in and stared at the detective, who immediately got up and left. The man occupied the chair that the detective had been sitting in earlier.

"I recognize you from the news," the man said, staring at me. (Little did he know that staring was my area of expertise.)

"Most people do, actually. What the hell have I done?"

"Well, for starters, you're being charged with libel."

"I expected that, but I'm going to go ahead and assume that there are more charges since people who commit libel aren't given this treatment." I gestured to my stark surroundings.

"You're right. You're also being charged with attempting to incite anarchy and aiding a wanted criminal."

"Now that's ridiculous. I have done neither."

The man leaned back in his chair and studied me carefully. "You are obviously a threat not only to society, Miss Sharpe, but to yourself."

"Just who are you, anyway? If you aren't with the police then I'm done talking."

He smiled at me, much like one might smile at a child. "I'm not a policeman, but I am with the police. I am a psychologist."

"I thought as much. Let me ask you this – how much is the Corp paying you to portray me as a criminal?"

"See, I thought you might insinuate something like that." He pulled out a notepad and jotted down_ delusions of persecution_, which I was able to read even from across the table.

"One statement is not enough to prove that I'm delusional."

"Now you're just rationalizing things, Lisbeth. May I call you that?"

"No, you may not. I want to talk to a policeman or another detective."

"Unfortunately, I cannot allow that. You see, you're getting worked up, and I don't think you're in the right frame of mind to be questioned."

"What, you think that I'm dangerous?"

"I didn't say that." The man said calmly. "Are you dangerous?"

The detective from earlier poked his head through the door. "We're ready." The man nodded, and the detective reentered the room. A police bot followed.

"I want a lawyer," I announced.

"One will be provided to you by the state," he said tersely. "Please stand up and put your hands behind your back."

"You can't arrest me. I wasn't read my rights."

"Actually, you were."

"Actually, I wasn't," I growled. "You can't use anything I say in court unless my rights were read to me before I was arrested. As I recall, you guys broke into my apartment, pointed at least ten guns at me, handcuffed me and told me I was under arrest, then brought me here. At no point in time were my rights read to me."

"How smart," the detective sneered as he forced my hands behind my back and handcuffed me. "I'm sure the judge will make an exception."

"And just how large a sum would such an exception cost?" I yelled. The police bot locked itself on to my arm and proceeded to drag me away from the room. The detective followed us.

"Where the hell are you taking me? The holding cells are in the other direction," I asked.

"You are being taken to Cell 40," the police bot said.

"Cell 40? What's that?"

"Cell 40 is a special holding cell for criminals who are viewed as high-risk cases."

"High risk of what? Breaking out?"

"That is correct."

I turned around to face the detective, even though the police bot was dragging me. "Oh, I see. You think Zulander is going to come and bust me out, don't you?"

"No one knows you're here, girlie, and no one will. You're being taken to Cell 40 so that we can process you quickly. Not even Zulander can break into it."

"I seriously doubt that, but I'll play along."

Soon we stopped at a glass door that was being guarded by bots on either side. IDs were scanned, and we were allowed entry through the door. However, beyond that was a metal door that was protected by a state-of-the-art biometric system.

"Only authorized personnel are allowed access to Cell 40," the detective announced. "Last I checked, that did not include Ziv Zulander." He scanned his iris and his index finger, and the door swung open to reveal Cell 40.

It was a small, cramped room, illuminated by a single light bulb that hung from an exposed wire from the ceiling. There was a bed in one corner, and the walls were painted in two shades of grey.

The police bot released its grip on me, and the detective shoved me in.

"Happy trails, Miss Sharpe," he sang gleefully before slamming the thick metal door shut.

* * *

I must have been in there a full day, but it seemed much shorter a period of time than twenty-four hours. I slept quite a bit, did a few stretching exercises, then slept some more. I was given just a bit of food in that time – one sandwich, made with tomatoes and cheese, and a small bottle of water. When I asked for more water, the police bot that had come to clear the plate away did not respond, and ultimately did not return with the water.

Just as I was about to slip into my third catnap, the slot on my door opened and the detective from earlier peered in.

"You have visitors," he said. An all too familiar voice piped up from behind him.

"Thank you, Detective Sheehan. Would you kindly leave us? Dr. Hiss and I have some rather private issues to discuss with Miss Sharpe."

The door swung open to reveal Lady Frenzy and Dr. Hiss. They stepped into the cell.

"My, this is nice," Hiss remarked as he took in the surroundings.

"Save it, Hiss," I said. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

"Lady Frenzy and I are here to offer you a deal," Hiss said, putting his hands behind his back.

"That's right, Lisbeth," Frenzy said. "I'm sure your actions were nothing but the sad result of your overwhelming grief. You now have a chance to make things right."

"Oh please. I know you know that I was with Zulander for two days. You're here to make sure I don't ruin the Corp. Let me guess," I leaned forward. "You're here to make me an offer I simply cannot refuse."

Frenzy nodded, her lips a thin line. "The Corp is willing to drop the libel charge against you if you agree to work for our press department. We're offering you one of the highest-paid jobs there. You can earn triple the amount you do with MNN."

"I have two other changes pending. What will you do about those?"

"Those will vanish, I can assure you," Hiss said.

"That's very tempting," I replied. "But unlike the pair of you, I have my dignity to consider. So I disrespectfully decline your offer. Now get out of my cell."

"We won't be coming back, Miss Sharpe," Frenzy said through gritted teeth. "We consider you an asset to the Corp, and that is why we have been so persistent in trying to protect you."

I guffawed. "_Protect_ me? So you call drugging me, tying me up and leaving me in the back of a van to be blown up _protection_? What, are you feeling guilty because the award you bought for me was a wasted investment?"

"Lady Frenzy, let's leave. I doubt she's going to accept our offer. We are wasting our time here." Hiss turned and knocked on the door. "Detective, let us out. We're done."

I gave both Hiss and Frenzy the stink eye right till the door slammed shut again. I sat down on the bed once again and settled down to sleep.

Twenty minutes into my peaceful, dreamless slumber, I was awoken by the sounds of metal banging and shots being fired outside my cell. Then the ground beneath the bed suddenly began to shake. I knew what was going to happen next.

A hole opened up in the floor, and Jammerzz' head popped out. "Hello again - no time to waste! The police bots are on ZZ's case!"

"Mine too, Jammerzz." I dropped myself into the hole. It was a tunnel that obviously led to some place far, far away from the police station. "Hey there, Toolzz. Lead the way, guys!"

Jammerzz spoke into his communicator. "We've got her, and we're heading out!"

We walked for about half an hour through that tunnel, in which time I learnt that ZZ, the sports BOYZZ and Swang had been back at the police station staging a diversion when Toolzz and Jammerzz were the real team breaking me out.

"They'll be waiting for us when we get out of this place," Toolzz said, brushing some dirt off his shoulders. "We tunneled in from a grove just beyond the start of the freeway."

Sure enough, when we reached the end of the tunnel, everyone was there, waiting for the three of us so that we could get away as soon as possible.

"Well, you look well," All Ball said to me.

"How long was I in there?" I asked him.

"A day and a half."

"You guys don't really procrastinate, do you?" The sports BOYZZ snickered.

"Not when it matters, no," Bogey replied with a smile.

I turned to Batzz and Ace. "Where are ZZ and Swang? I can see Twig behind that grove of trees there."

"We're right here," ZZ said, emerging from the trees with Swang at his side.

This time, it was my turn to extend my hand. "I don't know why you broke me out, but thanks. I owe you everything, and believe me; it is not in my nature to be melodramatic."

ZZ shook my hand. "I believe you, Lisbeth. Thanks for keeping an open mind."

"If I had done that earlier, I would have saved us both a lot of trouble."

He shook his head. "Well, what's done is done. I'm just glad you're on our side now."

"Speaking of taking sides, I have a favor to ask of you."

All of a sudden, the BOYZZ stopped chattering and turned to look at us.

"Don't worry, I have payment." I unzipped the jacket that I'd been wearing and pulled out a micro-recorder. "I thought this might be of use to you. Take a listen. I activated it just as the police stormed into my apartment."

ZZ took the micro-recorder from me very carefully, as though it was made of gold. "Lisbeth, you don't need to pay me back for anything – but thanks for this."

"You haven't heard what I want."

ZZ looked at me suspiciously. "Now I'm worried. What is it?"

I took a deep breath. "I want to fight too. Let me join you and the BOYZZ."

A terse silence filled the clearing.

* * *

"I must say, I quite like the idea of you joining us, but I can't allow it unless I'm thoroughly convinced. I can't afford a liability at this stage in the game. So, Lisbeth," ZZ looked at me, "convince me."

We had all driven back to the house, where ZZ had called a meeting in the living area. I was made to sit right in the center, much like an interrogation. Around me, Blitzy and the other BOYZZ stared at me expectantly.

"Well, for one, I'm a recognizable public figure. What I have to say will definitely count, whether it sounds crazy or not. With me on your side, I can convince more people that you're innocent, even if it's a small number."

Blitzy narrowed her eyes. Genesix and Watzon nodded.

"Two, I have nothing left. I think it's safe to say at this point that my career, however short-lived, is over. In fact," I grinned, "I've even packed my bags and left them in a culvert off the freeway. If I go back, I'm in serious danger, and I know you won't allow that."

There was more whispered assent.

"Third, I'm a hard worker. I'm determined and stubborn as hell. I'll train under each one of you guys if that's what it takes to get me fighting fit. Pun intended. Fourth, even if you say no, I am not leaving. I want to help you. I will make you make me help you." I crossed my arms over my chest.

"I'll train her, ZZ," Ninjzz said. "It would be a pleasure."

"Thanks, Ninjzz." I smiled at the BOYZZ.

"I'm still not convinced," Blitzy said.

"I'd have to agree with Blitzy, Lisbeth." ZZ said. "I don't know if you can handle yourself under that kind of pressure. It's easy to say all this now, but once you're out there in the midst of the fighting, it's a whole different story."

"Please," I scoffed. "I'm a journalist. I'm trained to work under pressure. Besides, did I mention the fact that I can whip up a mean chocolate mousse cake?"

Blitzy peered at me. "What, you can cook? How well?"

"Pretty damn well, actually. I'm a real foodie."

"You couldn't be better than me!" Cook protested indignantly.

"Cook, anyone is better than you," Blitzy muttered.

"Well, that's that then." ZZ smiled. "Welcome aboard, Sharpie."

"What, just because she can bake a cake?" Cook yelled.

I smiled to myself. Things would be rough, but I was going to be okay.

* * *

**_A/N: And here is the obligatory groveling: please leave a review telling me what you think. _****_Thanks for reading!_**


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